Tis Our Season
by Ianuaria
Summary: Picking up after 2 12, where Derek tells Addison it wasn't a fling...but he isn't leaving her. What if they decided to go celebrate their season with the whole family? Backstory, fluff , some family arguments, and a whole lot of Addek.
1. Chapter 1

**_Here it is, the promised Christmas story. Bit short, but I promise longer chapters once I get going._**

 ** _I'll continue if you guys want me to...so let me know!_**

* * *

It's their season. Of silvery snow and biting wind, cheery warmth and festivity.

It's the season they celebrate each year, no matter how busy they are. They always have time for Christmas. Used to have.

He still doesn't know exactly how he feels about what just happened. He keeps seeing Addison's face, her eyes sparking with hope when he sat down next to her, her hand curled around her glass, rings glinting in the light, a reminder. She looked so familiar; it could have been any year of their marriage, her hair straight and loose about her face, eyes alight.

And then he said it. Even now, he can't say exactly why he did it - some urge, perhaps, to be honest, to cone clean, to let her know they weren't living a fairytale anymore.

 _"Meredith - she wasn't a fling. I fell in love with her."_

He did. He loved Meredith - or he thought he did - as much as anyone can love a girl they met in a bar a few weeks after their wife cheated on them. But he loved her. She was a breath of fresh air, she didn't know the baggage trailing him, she didn't judge him for the way he'd left his old life; for a moment, he was just a guy in a bar, and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

 _"I'm not saying this to hurt you, or because I want to leave you, but-"_

But...what? He did hurt her, he could see that, the way that spark in her eyes dimmed, her mouth turning down infinitesimally at the corners, her shoulders folding inward, the change so subtle only someone who knows her as well as he does would spot it.

The trailer is cold - something she has pointed out, repeatedly, and loudly - and empty. She took a call from a resident as he was opening the door to Joe's, silence hanging frostier than the winter air between them, his hand millimeters from the small of her back, said she would be home late. She told not to wait up.

That was probably habit, too. She still does, sometimes, curling on the little couch, reading journals or the newspaper, if she's remembered to pick one up. There's a stack of catalogs in her place now, shiny covers advertising cookie-cutter Christmases. Smiling families, rosy children, the future he'd imagined for himself.

He sees with a pang that she's left her glasses on top of the pile, along with a oen he recognises as the one he hasn't been able to find all week. She must have planned for an evening of choosing presents, sharing hot chocolate and bickering like they always used to. It's tradition, starting when they were first-year med students in over their heads, and she showed him the magic of catalogs.

That was the year he took her home for Christmas for the first time, he remembers. She's been there every year since.

Except this year. This year, there will be three empty places at his mother's table.

 _I understand_ she sighed, when she called last week. _But, Derek...are you sure it's the right thing? Trying again?_

She's never liked Addison. Not really, although she's accepting enough. He's spent nearly fifteen years maintaining Addison's innocent belief that Carolyn Shepherd likes her, while simultaneously trying to convince his mother that Addison makes him happy.

Because she did. She was the love of his life, right up until the point where she decided to implode their lives. The moment he met her, his eyes watering even behind safety goggles, clad in old clothes and a decidedly unflattering apron that she wore like a cape, he knew. She was it.

It's the right decision.

* * *

The cab driver looks at her askance the way they always do when she asks them to let her off at the trailer, shivering slightly, her coat in her hands because it was warm in the cab. Her shoes slide a little on the frosty ground, slippery, and she wishes for a little snow. Something to make it feel a little like Christmas.

Because the way her husband is looking at her lately makes her feel decidedly unfestive. She hesitates a moment before she opens the door, remembering how weary he looked under the dim lights at the bar, confessing that their relationship - what was left of it - was the manifestation of his desire to be a good person, nothing more.

When she met him, he was nothing she'd seen before. She was enchanted by his innocence, the genuine warmth of his personality, the way he cared, deeply, avout things that did not affect him in the slightest but that meant something to her. She was used to boys looking at her like a plaything, pretty and useful.

She knew that he would never hurt her. He just didn't have it in him. And she'd been hurt enough.

Even now, he can't bring himself to leave her. He's staying, miserable, in love with another woman, but he's here. That's what matters.

"Derek, I'm-"

"Hello." he says cheerfully.

 _What?_

She stands by the open door, dumbfounded. A million possibilities race through her mind - is he leaving?

Kicking her out?

He tosses another pair of her panties into a large suitcase - resting on the bed, but she manages to refrain from pointing that out - and turns to rummage in a plastic tub.

"Do you think you'll need these?" he asks, holding up a pair of black pumps she hasn't worn in at least a year. "Or do you have any, you know, practical footwear?"

"Wh - why?" she asks faintly, plopping onto the bed.

"We're going home for Christmas." he says. "It's our season, remember?"

* * *

 ** _So! Sad struggling Addek are off to have a Shepherd family Christmas circus._** ** _This is an idea that hit me whilst on hour four in the library, so it might be...weird._**

 ** _But I'd love to explore the Shepherd's reactions to their situation, maybe some Montgomeries in the mix. I swear it'll be mostly fluffy and funny. I'll suppress the angst. I SWEAR._**

 ** _What do you think? Should I keep going?_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thank you all so so much for the sweet reviews and feedback on the first chapter._**

 ** _The second one took a while, but...here it is!_**

* * *

"Santa's sleigh might be faster," Addison snipes. "Want to write him a letter and see if he can just...I don't know, shove us down your mother's chimney or something?"

"It's not my fault." he points out. It really isn't. How was he supposed to know the flight would be an hour late?

Well. An hour and then some, but whatever. It isn't his fault. Addison's just been touchy since he crammed her precious clothes into a suitcase and just about dragged her to the airport. She's still in the short-sleeved white sweater and trousers she wore to work, one of her many long black coats over it.

"You could have given me some warning," she huffs, crossing her legs. She's smaller than usual, in flats intead of heels, somehow less intimidating, and he indulgently drapes an arm around her stiff, angry shoulders.

"I look terrible." she continues, plucking at her sweater.

"You look beautiful." he says automatically, no less than his duty after eleven years of marriage. It's reflexive, as vital to survival as any other. He says it to her when she's in scrubs, in evening dress, in pajamas, in nothing at all.

She does, however, look slightly mollified. "Are you sure your mother won't mind us just showing up?"

"She'll be thrilled," he replies, with an ease he's far from feeling.

"We don't have any gifts." she reminds him.

"Your catalogs work in New York, right?" he rolls his eyes.

"Plaid or plain?"

"Huh?"

"Plaid. Or. Plain."

" _What?_ "

"The _blanket_ , Derek." she hisses. "It's not brain surgery. We discussed it in the morning."

Right. The _I have a lot to make up for_ blanket.

"Although you might have a better chance of remembering if it _were_ brain surgery," she continues. "Since you're so obsessed with work."

"I am not." he says, stung. He took the time to plan this trip, didn't he? He packed both their things.

"Tell me Nelson couldn't have done Mr. Epstein's frontal lobe," she challenges. "Since he was, you know. On call."

"Nelson's an idiot." he mumbles, knowing she has him.

"And you're an arrogant workaholic."

"Well, you're a snob." he replies. "You're only in a bad mood because I booked economy."

"I don't know about you, but being stuck in a metal tube with screaming babies and coughing people isn't my idea of fun."

"It's all I could get last minute." he objects. "Or we could drive." He smirks at the expression on her face.

"In your sardine can? No."

"I drove here in it," he reminds her.

"I know." she snaps. "Or at least I found out after Richard told me."

"Still can't believe he did that." he mutters; her eyes narrow.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." he says brightly. "How about some hot chocolate? Good juju."

 _We definitely need some._

..

"What is that?" Addison splutters, almost spitting into her styrofoam cup. Her instincts take over at the last second, though, and she dabs at her mouth with a paper napkin.

"Hot chocolate." he replies, inhaling fragrant steam. "You said you wanted some."

"Hot chocolate," she repeats dubiously. "I wamted hot chocolate, as in juju, not...motor oil."

"It can't be that bad." he scoffs.

"You try it," she challenges, thrusting her cup at him. "Go on."

"You're _such_ a snob," he reiterates, blowing on his cup.

"Takes one to know one." she shoots back.

" _Jesus_." he coughs, dropping the cup in the trash, wishing he could get the powdery aftertaste out of his mouth. "It's disgusting."

" _Such_ a snob." she smirks, stepping in front of him to perch in the last available seat in the overcrowded, loud lounge.

He leans grudgingly against her chair, praying to God or the air traffic control or Santa or whoever is responsible for flights being on schedule two days before Christmas. Theirs has already been delayed by over an hour, and his legs are protesting.

An old lady across the row smiles benignly at them, resting her hand on the arm of an equally old and wrinkly man next to her.

"Such a sweet couple." she smiles, reaching across to touch Addison's knee. "Going home for Christmas, dear?"

"Yes." Addison smiles. "You?"

"We're going home too." she beams, patting her husband's arm. "Trevor, darling. Look how sweet they are!"

Addison shoots him a look as the old man turns jerkily towrds them, his eyes impassive.

"He's feeling a bit better now." the woman whispers loudly, still holding Trevor's arm. She looks uncertain, though.

" _Alzheimer_ _s._ " she hisses into their ears, cupping a hand over her mouth, nodding confidentially. "But he's a little better. He wanted to go home," she adds. "You remind me of us."

Derek glances down at the way he's leaning against Addison's seat, his arm draped loosely over the raised back, brushing her hair, the way she's instinctively leaning towards him. They look intimate, very married, as evidenced by the rings glinting on her hand - and glaringly absent from his.

"How lovely," the woman says wistfully. "To be young and going home to family for Christmas. Treasure it, sweetheart." she addresses Addison. "It goes so quickly. I never really got to enjoy our children, and now they're all grown up and gone away, no time for Christmas."

She looks around expectantly, as if expecting a small child to suddenly materialise.

"Oh," she says, flustered. "Dear me, I'm so sorry. Didn't mean to say-"

"That's all right," he says gently, taking in Addison's carefully neutral expression.

"I'm Joan." she says after a while, asking their names. They spend some time chatting about the woman's children, their work - _no wonder you don't have little ones! -_ and their holiday plans.

"You know, dear," she says conspiratorially to him when Addison leaps to her feet when she hears their flight being announced. "You really ought to be enjoying the holidays. I saw you two fighting earlier...and forgive a nosy old lady, but there aren't ever enough years. You'll look back later when you're old and grey like us and you'll wish you'd spent more time with her. Or you'll be praying for just a little more. And let me tell you, son, that's the worst feeling in the world - don't you let that happen to you."

..

There's always somewhere to run. In the hospital, even in the tiny trailer that, if he's honest, is starting to wear on him too, there's always somewhere for him to escape to when the pressing weight of her gaze becomes too much to bear.

Which is something he should have thought of before he booked a transcontinental flight - in economy, next to a family with multiple squirming children - which means he's spending the next five hours in the company of his wife.

With nowhere to go - unless you count the extremely small, questionably clean bathroom, which he doesn't - he's trapped in the aisle seat next to Addison's precariously swinging shoe. He's contemplating how large a chunk of his leg he might lose to the pointy heel when he realises someone is touching his hair. Pulling, actually.

"Hello there," he says to the little boy peeking between their seats.

"God, I'm sorry." says a young woman who must be his mother. "Leo. Sit down."

"That's all right." he says, turning back to his journal. Addison is looking fixedly out the window.

"Ow." he mutters five seconds later, hoping the mother will notice. She doesn't, maybe because she's busy trying to prise her small daughter's hands off the in-flight magazine she's trying to eat. Her son is grasping his hair firmly, grinning.

Addison seems to be trying not to laugh.

"Help me, will you?" he hisses. She engages the child in a conversation about the cartoon character on his shirt while he manages to free his hair, hoping he hasn't got a bald patch.

"That's what you get for booking last-minute." Addison whispers as the little boy crawls into his mother's lap.

"I thought you wanted to spend the holidays with me." he replies, still smarting.

"In Seattle would have been fine." she rolls her eyes. "We didn't have to-"

"You're the one who hates Seattle."

"I do not."

"Of course you do. You hate Seattle. You hate the rain. You hate the trailer-"

"Anyone would hate the trailer-"

"- and you hate all the interns-"

"They're idiots!"

"-and you hate trout-"

"When you bring it into the house only _half dead_ -"

"- and you hate the restaurants-"

"Well, you hate me," she says quietly, glancing over her shoulder at the family behind them. No one is listening. "I get to hate the little things, Derek."

"Addie-"

She smiles tightly, extending a hand to the little boy as he slips out of his seat.

"Where are you going?" she asks. His parents and sister are asleep, peaceful, the perfect little family.

"To stretch my legs." he says seriously.

"It's a very small plane." she replies with equal seriousness. "And you shouldn't wander off without telling your parents."

"They're sleepy." he pouts, pressing against her leg, lounging comfortably. He sneaks Derek a look, contemplating whether or not to speak to him. "And I'm bored."

"Why don't you sit...here." she says, maneuvering him onto her lap. "And we'll wait for your parents to wake up."

"Are you a mermaid?" he asks after a beat of silence, eyeing her hair. "My sister likes mermaids."

"No," Addison stifles a laugh. "I'm a surgeon."

"What's that?"

" A kind of doctor that cuts people open." he answers, pleased to finally contribute.

"Gross." the boy says, eyes widening. "What's your name?"

"I'm Derek." he smiles. "And this is Addison."

"I'm Joseph." he says sweetly. "Are you gonna cut anyone open right now?"

"No, not on a plane." he laughs. "Maybe later. In a hospital."

"I wanna be a surgeon." he says thoughtfully. "I can fix my sister. Mommy says she's really sick."

He pretends he doesn't notice the way Addison's hand passes protectively over the child's head, the way she looks over her shoulder at the blonde toddler in her father's arms.

"We're taking her to a special hospital." Joseph explains. "And they're gonna fix her."

"I'm sure she's going to be all right." he says quietly.

"I asked Santa to fix her." Joseph says. "Except it isn't Christmas yet."

"Two more days." he says, glancing at Addison.

"Two more days." she confirms, and Joseph looks relieved.

"What do you think you're doing?" his father asks mock-sternly from his seat, blinking sleep from his eyes. He glances over at his other sleeping son and the tiny girl.

"Oh, it's all right," Addison says quickly, a little embarrassed for some reason. Joseph trots back to his father, sliding meekly into his seat.

"I'm sorry," the man says, flustered. "It's just...we were up all night with the baby and sometimes it's hard, you know, with two..." he trails off, noticing it's just the two of them.

"I'm sure it is." he says, turning back to the book propped on his armrest.

Well, Addison's armrest, but it's between them, so he can see it.

"Stop breathing on me." she mutters, sliding the book into her lap. "And stop reading over my shoulder. You know it drives me crazy."

"Sharing is caring." says a little voice behind them.

They swallow laughter, enchanted by the little boys.

"On the first day of Christmas," Addison whispers. "My true love gave to me..."

"One delayed flight," he joins in. "On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me-"

"Two nosy septuagenarians, and one delayed flight." she snorts, covering her mouth.

"On the third day of Christmas," he hums. "My true love gave to me three tired children on a plane, two nosy septuagenarians, and one delayed flight."

Addison leans into his shoulder, warm and solid against him, and he lets her.

It's their season, after all.

* * *

 ** _Okay, so this is a bit vague. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to do a A Christmas Carol thing, or something else...this is just seguing into where I want to get them._**

 ** _Also, only three IRL days to Christmas! I don't celebrate, but my boyfriend does. and keeps reminding me it's, you know. Here already._**

 ** _Merry Christmas to all of you who do celebrate!_**

 ** _Please please please please please please review!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Hey! Merry Christmas to everyone on my side of the planet and Christmas Eve to those on the other side...I originally planned to have this all wrapped up by Christmas but real life hapoened, and I ...couldn't._**

 ** _Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing so far!_**

* * *

He's unused to the silence that fills the car, nithing but snow crunching, the sound of air rushing past. He's driving too fast and he knows it but he has to do _something_.

She talks a lot. The mask she wears at work, cool and professional, her few words tactful and well-thought-out, is not the real Addison. The real Addison...rambles. She plays songs on long drives and sings. She argues with the newscaster and the weather reporters, she calls annoying drivers very choice names, she reels off trivia about the places that they pass.

Except that now, she's stiff and silent beside him in the rental that reeks faintly of cigarettes, hands white-knuckled in her lap.

"It's already freezing." he says finally. "If you're going to cold-shoulder me..."

"Derek." she says urgently. As if she's wanted to say it for a long time and has been restraining herself. "Does anyone actually know we're...here?"

If by _here_ , she means _pulling into his mother's driveway,_ then...no.

Not unless Nancy counts. Well, actually, knowing Nancy she'll have spread the news already.

"Nance." he says grudgingly. "Maybe Lizzie."

"Which means your dead dog probably knows." she moans, burying her face in her hands. "Derek...you should have let me get that blanket."

"It's not _that_ cold." he says, confused. Addison's born and raised in Connecticut, in that estate that is cold in more ways than one. The cold doesn't really bother her. She's even been known to underdress in the name of fashion...not that he used to mind.

"The _blanket,_ Derek." she says, irritated. "The _sorry for hurting your son except in wool_ blanket. My making-things-up blanket."

Oh. The blanket. He vaguely remembers being spoken to about it on the plane. Maybe before that.

"It's .. all right." he says slowly. Judging by the way Nancy greeted her in Seattle, the hug, the closeness, the sisterly shorthand - they've forgiven her. Maybe he has, too.

"Nancy and the girls are all right." she moans. "Your mother hates me."

"No she doesn't." he says, his tongue moving reflexively.

"I almost killed Nancy with salmonella," she laughs, her voice choked. "And I ruined your life. And the thing with Amy-"

"Was not your fault." he says firmly, leaning across her to open her door. "And Nancy probably had salmonella from the hospital food, because none of the rest of us had it. And you didn't ruin my life, you just.. "

"Messed it up a bit?" she hiccups.

"When you put it like that.. " he smiles. "Come on, Addie. Chin up."

..

It's a winter wonderland. As in, it's frozen solid.

Or at least, his mother is.

The girls greet them effusively - Lizzie's nearly forty-nine, and still they're the girls- with squeals and hugs and cheek kisses and _you look amazing_ to Addie and _you look old_ to him.

The nieces and the nephews swarm around their legs, the bigger ones hanging back a little - no doubt they've eavesdropped on enough of their mothers conversations to have some gist, at least, of why their favourite aunt and uncle suddenly left, but the littlest ones - god, they're so big - are wildly excited.

"Aunt Addie!" Hannah, Nancy's youngest, delivered by Addison at four am in the kitchen after Nancy decided she'd round off her brood of four with a home birth, slams into her knees, arms wrapped tight. "Uncle Derek, hi! Did you bring me presents?"

"Han," Nancy chokes back a laugh. "Honey, let them take their coats off."

"Of course we did," Addison says brightly, kneeling to hug the child, planting a kiss on her flyaway hair. "I need a kiss before I can find them, though."

Hannah kisses her on both cheeks, snuggling close when Addison picks her up. Her brothers, emboldened, come up for hugs and even a shy _we missed you_ , and then they're all there, even Lizzie's Christopher, twenty-one already, in his first year at med school and tall enough to look down at both of them.

And then there's his mother, her dark eyes surveying them, making him feel immediately guilty. Like he's just stayed out too late, forgotten to take out the trash, left the fridge open. He could be sixty and he'd still feel the same way.

"Derek, hello." she says finally. "What a surprise."

..

"She hates me." Addison whispers decisively, sinking into his childhood bed. "It's final now."

"Addie-"

"Derek, she asked me _to leave the kitchen_ because she wanted everyone to be alive on Christmas." she hisses furiously. "She's ignoring me until she comes up with something to say to me. She told Hannah to go make a snowman because children shouldn't be around bad influences. She-"

"Addison," he says, less sympathetically. "You know what she's like. Give her a while to get over it."

"I...I should just go." she says softly, toeing at her unopened luggage in a very uncharacteristically Addison way. "It's like you said, Derek... Christmas makes you want to be with people you love, and I don't want to spoil it for your whole family-"

"Our family." he says firmly. "I asked you to come, Addie, I want to spend the holidays with _you._ Like we always do. The girls have missed you, the kids can't get enough of you - Mom will come around."

"I'm sorry," she says, leaning briefly into him. She smells of peppermint, and he inhales, red strands tickling his nose.

"Get a room." Nancy groans, barging in.

"You're in it." Addison points out, blinking.

If Nancy notices her red-rimmed eyes, she doesn't mention it, just swoops around the room, collecting stray items of children's clothing and toys. "Josh was a little pissed because he has to share with the little ones, but then he realised Uncle Derek and Aunt Addie means-"

"Ice skating." Addison murmurs.

"Yup." Nancy says cheerily. "The gang is all dressed up and ready to go, and I found your skates in the closet, so you might want to get moving."

"I haven't skated in years," he says thoughtfully.

"Because you havent shown up to Christmas in years." Nancy says bluntly. "Hey, by the way, Amy just called. She says since her favorite brother and sister-in-law are here, she might just show her face."

"On the fourth day of Christmas," he sings, moatly to humor Addison. "My true love gave to me four noisy sisters-in-law, three tired children on a plane, two nosy septuagenarians, and one delayed flight."

"Oh, so you're the love of my life now?" she teases. "Come on, let's go see if you remember how to skate."

..

"All right," Addison pants, straightening up after she's done fastening Hannah's boots for the third time because they 'made her toes feel funny'. "Everyone ready?"

"I have to pee." Hannah says urgently. He looks at her puffy pink snowsuit, undeniably adorable. And firmly fastened with more zips and tabs than a hazmat suit. Really, Nancy and Todd needs to stop spoiling the kid. Not that he's one to talk...a _lot_ of packages in their suitcases upstairs have little Hannah's name on them.

"All right." Addison says. "Let me just-"

"Can we go already?" Josh asks, wide-eyed. "Uncle Derek, we're _dying_ to skate. Dad won't take us and Mom sucks on the ice."

Todd, he recalls, is a find from Nancy's post-med-school graduation trip to Florida and about as adept on the ice as Bambi. And Nancy has a hard time keeping herself upright, let alone a flailing four year old and several rebellious preteens.

And Lizzie and Kath are on kitchen duty, leaving their respective husbands, who are currently hiding in the attic attempting to finish wrapping a slew of presents for the ones still little enough to be expecting Santa tomorrow night.

Addison disappears into the bathroom, Hannah propped on her hip, to a chorus of groans from the assorted cousins.

"Could you get that, Chris?" he asks when the doorbell rings, too busy trying to unknot the laces of the skates Nancy unearthed for him and Addison; they're snarled together, all four skates in a knot.

"Uncle Mark?"

* * *

 ** _Heh heh._** ** _Merry Christmas!_**

 ** _Hope I'll be able to update soon...even if Christmas is almost over this story is still fun to write._**

 ** _Please leave me plenty of reviews...they're as good as presents!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Some Christmas story this is... we're at the end of March already!_** ** _I hope you're still reading... this chapter is for simbagirl, whose review reminded me there are actually people out there interested in this thing._**

* * *

 _Suicide rates go down during the holidays._

That's what he told Joe. It's true, statistically. But it isn't like tragedies go down; there are always the people driving too fast to catch a last minute flight, ladders slipping, icy roads.

Holidays bring perspective; surrounded by the buzz and the cheer, sometimes all you can hear is the sound of your own mistakes. All you can see is the things you should have, could have, done better.

Looking around him earlier, at his sisters, all happily married for over a decade each, their children, some still small enough to be wide - eyed about Christmas, some old enough to know how to keep the magic for them, he fekt a sense of loss for the years he has wasted.

Their marriage didn't disintegrate that one night, he tells himself. He knows this well, but he doesn't admit it because the role he played is dwarfed by the way Addison reacted to his absence. But he knows he pushed her to the point where she lashed out so viciously.

He reminds himself of this again as he rises from his position crouched on the floor to stare his ( former ) best friend in the eye.

"Merry Christmas, Shepherds." Mark booms, as infuriatingly _himself_ as ever.

There's a flurry of cheering and hugging, cries of _Uncle Mark_ and high fiving, loud enough to draw Nancy and Kath from the kitchen.

"Mark?" Nancy snorts. "Ha."

" _Mark_." Kathleen says interestedly, drawing out the A. "You're..."

"Here." Liz finishes.

Addison chooses that moment to emerge from the bathroom, trailing Hannah re-zipped into her snowsuit. She stops in her tracks, staring at the door.

"Oh my god." she mumbles.

"Oh my god." he echoes, but not so Addison can hear him.

"Oh my." his mother says. "My, my."

..

"Careful," he says warningly. "Those are sharp." He keeps his hands on Hannah's shoulders - it's killing his back - as she wobbles on her double bladed skates, arms extended to keep her precarious balance.

"I'm doing it!" she squeals, thrilled. "I'm skatin' !"

"Great job." he says, as cheerfully as he can manage when bent nearly double. "Han, why don't we -" He switches so she's skating closer to him, and he can hold her outstretched arms. "Better."

She seems amenable to this new method, wobbling along as they watch the rather rough game of ice hockey on the other side.

"I want to go to Aunt Addie." Hannah announces. "I wanna do the twirly stuff."

He forces himself to look over at Addison. She's graceful as ever on the ice, guiding Nancy and Kath's older girls through figure eights not far behind them.

It's not her fault. She didn't ask Mark to come here.

Seeing them together in the same room, though, it's like he's back in his own darkened home, one hand on the doorknob, about to brimg his life crashing down around him. He's back in Seattle, on the wrong side of the elevator door while they stand shoulder to shoulder, asking him to forgive them.

He's standing in the hospital, punching Mark. He's on the trailer, ignoring Addison, he can feel her writhing in silence but he draws satisfaction from it.

What kind of man does that? Who hurts his wife like that?

Who the hell tells their wife on Christmas Eve - her favorite holiday - that he loves another woman but doesn't intend to end their marriage?

"Aunt Addie's busy." he starts, but Hannah's already on her way, speeding across the ice. The shortening of her name feels odd, sweet in contrast to the bitter tinge of his memories.

"Hannah!" he yells after her, lunging, a second too late. His hand brushes the back of her snowsuit, and he just manages to recover his own footing in time to watch her tumble onto the ice face-first.

..

Addison's there before he is, kneeling on the ice, bundling the shocked little girl into her arms. "It's okay," she soothes.

Hannah seems too surprised to cry, but he can already see blood welling in a shallow scrape on her forehead. Addison runs both hands over her expertly, tucking a bare hand into her pocket where her mitten must have come off.

The older kids come over, worried, and then Hannah begins to wail.

"It's just a little scrape." Josh kids. "I can't even see it."

Hannah, red faced, doesn't look convinced.

"Some juju will help you, I bet." Addison says brightly. "You want some juju? And...a marshmallow?"

Hannah nods, hiccuping, then lets Addison get to her feet.

"You sure you don't need -" he starts as Addison picks her up.

"No, you - stay with the rest of them." she replies. "The older kids, they don't - they know."

"What, that you slept with Mark?" he says, recklessly, his tongue assuming control the way it seems to do when he's confronted with any reminder of why he left New York.

Addison looks hurt, but just for a moment. These moments are starting to feel fewer and farther in between, and he wonders if she's simply stopped caring or if, even worse, she doesn't expect better.

"We're okay." she replies coolly, regaining her composure. It never takes her long.

He watches them skate away, her bright hair fluttering under the festive knit cap with the pom-pom he thinks Liz made her. Hannah has on one just like it.

..

"Mark Sloan." Carolyn says, eyeing him beadily. "Really."

"Merry Christmas?" he shrugs. The kitchen smells as warm and homey and inviting as it always does, but the woman in front of him emanates a distinct chill.

"Very merry, indeed." she says, sitting down at the table across from him. "Mark...why are you here?"

"Come on, Mom Shepherd." he tries. "You asked me to."

"I did not."

"You did." he grins. "I was six, and you said I had to come every year."

..

She looks at the man sitting across from her - it seems just yesterday he was a little boy, a little who knew how to charm his way out of, or into, just about anything. Derek's best friend, his brother in arms against his gaggle of sisters.

Her Derek was a odd child. As much as she loves him, she knows this. He was interested in things that bored most boys his age. He was the kind of child who was teased but didn't know how to stop it.

Mark...he's spent most of his life as his usual assured, confident self. He was the reason Derek managed to get through high school wothout developing some sort of lifelong need for therapy. She was infinitely grateful for Mark Sloan.

And then there was the whole matter of his parents. She remembers, vividly, the day Derek met Mark. He came home from his first day of kindergarten - oh, how much she cried! She was so sure then that Dedek would be her last baby - and he asked in all innocence if Mark could come play.

And the next day, a small boy with resolutely scruffy dark blond hair and the naughtiest gray eyes was dropped off by a driver, picked up by a nanny, and went home to dinner made by someone she assumed was also paid to care.

She never met Mark's parents until the boys were in first grade, and in trouble for burying the dead class goldfish in the sandpit - _but Mrs. Shepherd, they were gonna **flush** him! _\- and she remembers feeling sad. Sad, that they seemed so uninclined to get to know their son, so uninterested in this sweet child, that she told Derek to go ahead and invite Mark. Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Mark was a permanent fixture.

Until Addison. She knew that girl wasn't right for her son. She knew she would cause trouble. She was too much but not enough - gorgeous to look at, clearly intelligent and ambitious, but she wishes Derek had chosen someone with more...gravity. Someone who wants a family. Someone who had an actual upbringing, someone to teach them right from wrong.

She doesn't hate Addison, just to be clear. She just wishes Derek hadn't married her.

And then didn't Addison prove her worst fears? She slept with _Mark_ , for heaven's sake. Derek's _best friend_. She can't even imagine the anguish that must have caused, because for all her warnings she knows Derek did love Addison.

Even if he was rather...absent towards the end of it.

"I'm sorry." Mark says without preamble. "Really, really sorry."

"You broke his heart."

"I know." he replies heavily. "I'm trying to fix it."

"By showing up here?" she asks pointedly. "They're still together, Mark. I don't know how much I like that, but I don't want to see them broken apart."

"They're...trying." Mark says pensively.

"And what are you doing?" she cries. "What do you think your being here will do? Are you here for Addison?"

"No." he says, eyes flashing, a side of Mark she's never seen before. "I'm here for Derek and you amd the girls and the kids and yes, Addison, but I'm here for all of you. You're my family, Mrs. Shepherd, all I've got."

..

She makes it back to the house all right, her muscles throbbing with the effort of carrying Hannah all the way. She's not crying now, lolling sleepily against her shoulder.

The first lerson they run into is Liz, and her eyes pop at the sight.

"Oh my god, what _happened_?" she shrieks, lifting Hannah's chin to take a look. "Oh, poor baby. Addison, for God's sake, we told you to watch her."

"Hannah?" Nancy's voice drifts downstairs. "Holy sh- baby, what happened? Are you hurt? Did you fall? Where's Derek?" she demands. "I want him to look at her head right now."

"Addison, were you...distracted?" Kath asks sweetly.

"I was." Derek says gruffly behind them. "I had Han, and she wanted to skate with Claire and Sam. She got away from me."

His sisters are silent, Nancy swaying slightly as she cuddles Hannah, renewed her crying for her mother's benefit.

"Oh." Liz says finally. "All right, then."

..

"Thanks for that." Addison says quietly. They're back in their room,.silence hanging heavier than the cold air between them.

"It was my fault." he says, yanking a warm shirt over his head. She's still dressed in her skating outfit, damp mittens crumpled in her fist.

"Still." she says simply. "You didn't have to, but you did."

"Do you really think I'd let the lions eat you if it weren't your fault?" he asks, turning to look at her.

She looks up at him, eyes sparkling with the tears he heard in her voice. "It's not my fault Mark's here, but you're all acting like it is."

"Can you blame me for that?" he quips, then regrets it when she closes her eyes, moisture trailing down her cheeks.

"Sorry." he says, reaching for her. "Addison, look at me, I didn't mean it. It just happened."

But isn't that what she said to him, that night? _He was just here, it just happened?_

He can't control his reactions, the casually cruel comments he makes. He can see the pain in her eyes, the strain in her face. She's not herself in Seattle anymore, he barely recognises his wife. She's docile, accepting, rarely nagging or demanding. Resigned, almost.

Who is he to blame her for not controlling the decisions she made? He made the decision to take her back. He asked her to stay. _It just happened_ can't be his excuse anymore.

There's a brisk knock on the door, and Kathleen barges in without waiting for a response. She wafts in the scent of warm gingerbread, and she's smiling.

"Peace offering." she says cheerfully, the shrewlike expression she wore downstairs replaced by a wide grin. "Fresh out of the oven."

She doesn't mention Addison's tears, hastily wiped away, or the fact that Derek is ineffectively holding her elbow in an attempt to console her.

"You don't let _anyone_ have these before Christmas morning." Addison says, blinking. "These are Santa's cookies."

"I have a lot to apologise for." Kath says. "We all do."

"Don't tell the kids about the cookies." she hisses as she closes the door behind her.

"Some olive branch." he smiles. Kath has brought them five perfectly shaped gingerbread men, three in dresses, one a little bigger, one smaller than them all. The five Shepherd siblings, in cookie-cutter form, his mother's tradition from when they were little. One each, to decorate as they liked.

"I always thought they were a little creepy...cute, but creepy." Addison confesses. "Like voodoo dolls."

And she bites the head off the cookie shaped to be him.

"Ow." he mutters, making her smile tremulously. He takes a cookie too - one of his older sisters - amd takes a bite. Delicious.

"Hey," she says, amused. "On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, five voodoo cookies, four noisy sisters-in-law, three on a plane -"

"Two nosy septuagenarians and one delayed flight." he finishes, stealing the last bite of her Derek cookie. "Some Christmas we're having."

* * *

 ** _I'm begging you. Review._**

 ** _And everyone who's anywhere near snow/weird weather, stay safe!_**


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